The Elements of Going Spare
by Cali Dreamweaver
Summary: Spare scenes, omakes, and bunnies for "The Elements of..." series. Hopefully I actually get to a part in the plot where I can use them. Or, well, if not, they've been in my head and hard drive so long I ought to let somebody read 'em...
1. Put Him Back

"_He's here."_

"_Who? – Oh, him. You need to find a less painful way to call back your favourites."_

"_How was that painful? He just passed through the Veil, and now he's here. Besides, you know they're really glad when it comes. Gently into the good night and all that."_

"_Yes, but this makes it, what? The forty-seventh time? Forty-seven universes, and in each of them he ends up dying for a foolish godson with delusions of grandeur."_

"_He's still alive in the other eighty-eight, isn't he? Getting mobbed by fangirls in half of them. Becoming a multiverse voyager in some, even."_

"_You mean like now?"_

"_Well, you know what I mean. Besides, this is all in my head."_

"'_But what makes that any less real', I suppose you'll be quoting at me? Honey, stop pulling the strings of fate. Put the mortal back and let him rest."_

"…_Fine. I know where he should go. But really, what's the point of the gods if they can't meddle in mortal lives now and again?"_

* * *

Dream

Death

Desire

Delirium

Destiny?

Thousands of years ago, when mankind was young, they believed in gods. The sun rose, the moon shifted, the tides fell, the seasons changed, and all of these were beyond comprehension. The material world collided with the intangible, the universe touched against its parallels, and this too was beyond understanding. Yet among ancient men there arose a few who were unafraid. They sought, they wondered, and some of them found an answer within themselves.

In their uncomplicated way they thought of gods. The things they could not explain, they were the work of beings beyond humans. And in truth some of them were. But the "gods" were not the perfect, all-knowing, all-powerful beings that they were thought to be. They were simply… more.

There are tales, for example, of powerful shamans called _mog-ur_, who could call upon the spirit realm for aid in the material realm, and whose awareness could travel along the line of time – back to the beginning, or onward to the future. There are tales, too, of ancient kings and queens in the ancient land of Mesopotamia, who suffered violent deaths before being joined with spirits, allowing them great power and immortality in exchange for their ability to walk in the sun. There were many, many stories of men and women who could change their form, or who were so adept at what they did – weaving, perhaps, or playing the lyre, or making things grow, or fighting, or planning wars – that they became known as divinities. Still there were others who found that they could harness energies that other people could not, and could manipulate these in ways that mimicked the larger scale of the world: people who could wield lightning, or stem the tides, or bring forth darkness like that of the night. And these, too, were called the gods, and though they walked the same paths that others did it was said of them that when nobody was there to see, they could enter worlds unlike our own.

Perhaps they could. Perhaps. If they did, none have returned to tell the tales.

Thousands of years ago, when man was still young, in the land that would someday call itself China, there were just such… higher beings. One of them could take the form of a gigantic white-furred snow tiger, and wielded great ability to use wind. Another could take the form of a great serpent-headed turtle, green flesh and black scales, and could call up great banks of cloud. Two took the forms of dragons, with a powerful body like a snake, fearsome toothy jaw like a crocodile, thick pearlescent scales and serrated spines as armour all over his body, eyes like living jewels, tail tufted like a lion's, face whiskered like a carp's, head horned like a stag's and four claws ending in talons like a hawk's; the one of blue could call upon the rain, while the one of golden yellow could move mountains. Still two more, siblings perhaps, took the form of large birds, with long wing- and tail-feathers like tatters of flame, save one was red and the other dark as night; each could control the treacherous tool of fire. And another took the form of a big brown bruin, shaggy fur and large soft-padded paws, and had great skill with all plants that grew. They were worshipped, and around each grew both a tribe and a cult following, and in time they became a legend. The legend spread and mixed, and changed, and reached even neighbouring countries; and the people endured, until…

One day, in what modern man would call the year ? (2333? ) BCE, descendants of the original beings came together under a single banner. Their animal forms remained, yet their interests had realigned.

Their leader was the Emperor, and he had the ability to transform into a golden dragon. His most trusted adviser was a priestess who could change into a brown bear. His army was led by a man who could turn into a water-dragon, who led the lances and cavalry, and a woman who could turn into a fire-bird, who led the assassins and the archers; the architect who built his castle was a man who could turn into a giant turtle; while his chief weapon-smith was a woman who could turn into a snow tiger. Dragon, bird, turtle and tiger all had their assistants, seven each, who aided them in their work and kept them from harm, and each group had their specialties.


	2. A Ravie Quidditch Practice

Alright, Taylor!

Nice one, Patrick.

We'll be sure to beat Slytherin next game.

The Ravenclaw Quidditch Team was in high spirits as they ended their evening practice. There was a game coming up against Slytherin that weekend, and Patrick Taylor had booked the pitch for all evenings in advance. They usually practiced for two hours a day, but Patrick always booked it for five effectively preventing the Slytherins from practicing. It was strategy, plain and simple.

His plays were going well, too. He smiled, thinking how he'd lucked out this year, with the people he had on his team. Ravenclaws were always being picked on for being nerdy and academic, and compared to the other Houses they certainly did tend to be rather smaller on average, if not in height, then in breadth. But Patrick was well aware that nerdy people could very well be the most balanced players on the field; their keen observation and analytic skills, not to mention the upper-body strength often hidden in their book-carrying muscles, made them quite flexible come game time. People who worked hard naturally played hard too, so to speak.

And he'd managed to collect a wonderful team, with some to spare as reserves. There was Tamara Fence, of course, his star Keeper; he'd seen her play when she was a firstie and had immediately known that she would be the heart of his team. There were his Chasers, Vaughn Choosewell, Elan Underhill, and Charlotte Dranyam Charley was a mean Potioneer and employed her precision quite well in scoring goals; Elan was particularly good at tight swerves and hairpin curves, allowing him to escape nearly impossible pincer-traps; while Vaughn was the lightest and speediest player Patrick had seen lately, a potential Seeker except of course that was already Patrick's position. The two Beaters weren't too bad, either. Sean Bradford was a heavy-set, somewhat chubby boy, but he could use his weight to fair effect. Patrick had been a little worried about Minstrel Lehman, who was very short and proportionally slender; but she'd been a reserve the previous year and proven herself a capable Beater, because she had a good sense of timing and a nearly instinctive way of calculating the minimum amount of force required to produce maximum effect. (Patrick rather thought that she would make a better Seeker, due to her size, but she would have to improve her flying speed to do that. Perhaps later on, though he would consider Vaughn before Minstrel.) Meanwhile, on the bench were Sylph Fletcher, Vanya Bowen, and Cyrus Glass, all of whom could play either Chaser or Beater, or Keeper in a pinch. If it came to losing the Seeker (Patrick himself), he planned on sending Vaughn out as Seeker and substituting one of the reserves as Chaser; Tamara would then be the play-maker. Patrick was already grooming her to be the next Team Captain.

That ploy was something, Captain, Glass said. The reserves were also part of team practice. 


	3. A Sirius Outburst

"Of course, there are those among us with nothing more difficult to do than clean the house -"

"Stop," Minstrel said, glaring at her cousin. "Not another word, Severus."

Snape raised both hands up, palms open, to show that he was hiding nothing and meant no harm. "I was only remarking how much I'd appreciate a break... what with teaching, and then my work here... Dumbledore asks so much of me that I feel sometimes that I haven't got time to just rest at home."

Sirius stood up, his hands clenched into fists at the table. He opened his mouth to say something, but Minstrel spoke before he did. "I told you to quit it, Severus."

"But Mina, haven't I got enough on my plate?" Snape said in a reasonable tone, although he cast a snide glance at Sirius as he did so. He continued, "Besides, shouldn't you be complaining too? I mean, how many times has your husband been home in the past four months?"

"Leave me out of this, Severus," Lupin said in a restrained voice.

"Yes, please do," said Sirius suddenly, staring at Snape. "If you want to have a pass at me just go ahead and say it to my face, why don't you?"

"Now, Sirius," said Minstrel placatingly.

"Don't 'Now, Sirius' me!" Sirius snarled. "I've had it with that cousin of yours taking potshots at me and my orders from Dumbledore! I've had it with Dumbledore and I've had it with this house!"

He pushed himself away from the table and turned to leave the room. "Now look what you've done!" Minstrel told Severus, exasperated. "Stop teasing the man! It's not his fault the Ministry's still after him, you KNOW he can't do a thing until Voldemort comes out into the open -"

"I heard that!" Sirius said from the door. "You can shut it too, I've had it with your mollycoddling - I'm not a child or an invalid!"

Minstrel sighed helplessly. "But you're not well either," she murmured, as she began to clear away Sirius's plate. "You haven't been yourself since you escaped from Azkaban."

"Thing is, Mina," said Lupin softly, apparently having overheard her, "I'm not so sure the person you think Sirius is, is who he is now - or even who he was, any more." 


	4. A Stolen Kiss

Minstrel.

The insistent call came from the shadowed niche behind Gregory the Smarmy, startling Minstrel. But the voice was familiar if the location seemed strange. Minstrel looked for Sirius as she glanced into the dark. I have a class, she said reprovingly.

Come here, woman, Sirius beckoned. Minstrel wondered what he was up to. Obviously something silly; he was always up to something that could get him into trouble.

Well, what is it? she asked.

Sirius grinned wolvishly at her. Nothing, he said. I just wanted a kiss.

So saying, he swept her up and planted a firm kiss on her surprised mouth. Really! Minstrel sputtered when he put her down. She was sure she ought to be angry but she wasn't.

No, well, actually I was on my way to Hogsmeade for a bit, Sirius said. I wanted to ask if you had anything in particular you wanted.

Not really well maybe some more parchment hang on, I'll give you the gold

But with a laugh and a kiss on her cheek, Sirius had disappeared. Yet another of his secret passageways, Minstrel thought ruefully, pocketing her money pouch. She picked up her books. If she hurried, she just might make it to class on time. 


	5. After a Mission

Where have you been? Minstrel asked, stifling a small cry of horror as she saw several large gashes down Sirius's back and arms. She had pushed down Sirius's shirt, but now tore it off entirely as her fingers followed the largest slash. She had a small pot of antibacterial cream and some bandages on hand. With ease of long practice she cleaned his wounds and wrapped them up. All this time Sirius had not spoken.

Cat got your tongue? she finally asked.

No, Sirius said, as if just then coming to his senses. Then, shortly, I've been out with James.

Am I to expect Remus in a while then, in as bad a shape?

A low growl was the reply. Sirius was finding it more and more irritating that she was always so concerned about Lupin. Sure, Lupin was her friend, and his too for that matter his very good friend but shouldn't she be more worried about him?

Don't be so selfish, Sirius Black, you're already safe here and he's not, Minstrel chided. She picked up the torn shirt. I'll wash this and sew it up, she said, getting up. You just make yourself comfortable until I get back. Maybe take a nap on the couch. 


	6. Another Hogwarts Fight

Anyone home?

Sirius looked up as the familiar voice echoed down the passageway leading to the Shrieking Shack from the Whomping Willow. Minstrel? he thought, a bubble of hope and eagerness forming in his heart. He got up and opened the door for her.

Thanks, she said as she entered the Shack; then she noticed who had opened the door. Oh, she said. I'm sorry, excuse me. I was looking for Remus.

Mina?

Remus had been in the other room, darning an old cloak. He came down the hallway and smiled at Minstrel easily. What did you need me for?

Miss Pomfrey asked for you, Minstrel replied, smiling. I figured you might be here, since you have free period.

Well, you figured right, Remus replied lightly, folding up the cloak and hanging it over the nearest chair. Come on, I'll walk you back to the castle. Where'd you come from anyway, the library?

And then he and Minstrel were off down the passageway back to Hogwarts without paying the slightest attention to Sirius, who had spent all that time just standing there behind the door like some nut. Halfway intending to right this insult, Sirius followed the pair of them back up the tunnel, but they had cleared it long before he did. He ended up standing, concealed, just at the doorway, watching Minstrel leave with Remus. The brown-haired, quiet young man said something as he reached for Minstrel's books, making her laugh as she handed them over. She patted his shoulder with a familiar candor, a big smile on her face as they continued walking. Her hands were gesturing enthusiastically as she talked, and Sirius could very well envision how her face would be looking just then: suffused with light, her cheeks aglow with pink in her excitement, her eyes twinkling and more violet than usual behind her silver-rimmed glasses.

She leaned over and gave Remus a quick one-armed hug when they reached the castle door, and she received her books once more. Remus entered the castle, but Minstrel turned to the right and headed for the greenhouses; she must have a class, Sirius thought, partially and illogically relieved.

Minstrel did not have a class. She had brought a few books along by habit, but really what she wanted to do was have some time alone to sit and think. To tell the truth she had accepted Miss Pomfrey's errand out of an irrational desire to catch a glimpse of Sirius. And she had; he had opened the door for her. But now that it came to that pass she was finding it hard to approach him they had traded so many mean words that it felt awkward to simply strike up a conversation. Minstrel missed the times they could just talk and have fun together. Remus was a good friend her best friend, even but he was so like her that sometimes he could get boring. With Sirius, even quarrels had been fun. Well, in a weird sort of way. But not the sort of quarrels they'd been having lately.

She shook her head, feeling supremely stupid. This was what she hated about letting one's emotions get in the way of decisions: they tended to make everything so complicated. Logic dictated that the answer was simply to admit she was wrong, say sorry, accept his apologies as well, and just make up. But: It. Was. So. Damn. Hard. 


	7. Before the Triwizard

Sirius had not been on a broomstick for years. But it wasn't the sensations of flight that were occupying his mind at the moment, although they were as familiar and exhilarating as they had ever been. Rather it was the tantalizing and just-as-familiar nearness of the woman whose broom he was sharing. For purposes of the ride, he had his arms around her waist; but they were so different in size that he could see right over the top of her head. Sirius wished he dared hold on tighter, or to rest his head on her shoulder. Not because of any fear, or at least any fear of broom-related accidents. Sirius was an experienced flier and he knew Minstrel was too. Rather, he simply wanted the contact with her.

We're here, Minstrel said softly. She landed her broom neatly behind a copse of aspen trees. You wanted to see Harry; this would be as close as I could get you to Hogwarts without being seen.

I could have come as Padfoot, Sirius said. Or Apparated, come to that.

Minstrel gave him a small smile. So could I, she said. It would have saved me some time, and my teaching assistants would not have had to cover for me. It would have been easier and safer for both of us. Yet I offered the ride, and you accepted.

Silly of me, Sirius said softly.

I know. It was silly of me too, Minstrel replied. She stepped closer and reached up to push the hood of Sirius's cloak off from his head. I suppose I wanted to make sure you got here safe. You've got a history of not showing up when expected.

Sirius caught her hand on the way down. He pressed it quickly to his cheek in a sincere and tender gesture. I'm sorry, he said.

I know you are, Minstrel replied. Although it's taken me this long to accept it. 'Sorry' is not exactly enough to describe something like well, like us...

She tiptoed up so that she could reach his face, putting up her arms around his neck to draw him down. Take care of yourself, she said earnestly, looking into his eyes. She gave him a swift kiss, then pulled away quickly. In another moment she had turned upon her heel and Disapparated. 


	8. After the Triwizard

That is not taking care of yourself, Sirius Black, Minstrel clucked as she looked him over that evening. Albus was right to send you back here, look what you've done to yourself. Fleas. Your ribs sticking out. And you expect to be allowed to take care of Harry?

It's not my fault I'm having a hard time even living anywhere, Sirius groused.

Minstrel sighed. I know, she said, rolling her eyes and tweaking his nose. But still.

She got up. You need a bath, she said, but the only tub's in the master bedroom. Take off your dirty clothes and put them in Remy's hamper. I'll deal with them later. There's a towel on the bed, just wrap that around you and then come over next door when you're ready. I'll just prepare your bath.

Obediently Sirius stripped off as soon as Minstrel closed the door. Setting aside his clothes and locating the towel as instructed, he padded down the hall and into the master bedroom. It had a simple lay-out, a bath on one side, a bed on the other, large French doors to a balcony opposite the hall. Sirius felt a pang of bitter jealousy as he looked at the bed. So that was the bed Minstrel shared with Remus.

The water's drawn, come in, Minstrel said. She pointed to a stool on the floor next to the tub. Sit down for a moment. I have to treat your hair with flea solution it's not a good idea to apply it yourself.

Accordingly Sirius sat down and allowed Minstrel to rub the sudsy stuff onto his head. His hair had grown long and once more rather matted, but her small fingers gently worked out each tangle. When Sirius closed his eyes he could almost imagine that this was what she would do, were she his wife, when he would come home tired from a long day at work. He leaned his head back and felt the top of it settle against a warm thigh. Minstrel did not move it away, continuing her placid stroking of his hair. There, she said after some time. All done. She gently raised Sirius's head away from her and wrapped it in a sort of plastic hat. Don't rinse it off just yet, but you can go and have a soak if you like now.

She helped Sirius stand up and gently lowered him into the tub. There's bubble bath in the green bottle over there, Minstrel said. The purple White Rain one's shampoo, you can use that later, and the Lander bottle is conditioner for making your hair softer, you know and let's see... oh yeah I have scented bath oils and salts if you want them. Or soap. When you're done, the medicine cabinet's got shaving cream and razors if you want to shave, they're Muggle razors but you know how to use those, right

Minstrel, Sirius said, Minstrel, stop. You're babbling. I'll be fine. I've stayed here before, remember?

Sorry, Minstrel said. I guess I'm kind of nervous. I I'll just go lay out some of Remus's old clothes for you. They might be a bit short, but I can alter that...

Minstrel, Sirius reminded her. With a nervous giggle Minstrel left the bathroom, leaving Sirius feeling lonelier than he had a right to be. He felt like an outsider and resented having to depend on Remus even for clothes.

There were so many things Sirius was having to borrow from Remus. His shaving cream and razors; his clothes; his house. But the one thing Sirius really wanted to get from Remus, he couldn't his wife. 


	9. Anachronism

**Anachronisms**

"Mom, Mom, can we sleep over at Big Daddy's tonight?"

Minstrel looked up from the potion she was brewing at the counter. Her kids - Celes, aged nine; Teddy, aged eight; and Remy, aged fifteen, looking supremely embarrassed to be counted among the kids - had clattered into her kitchen, eagerness and hope shining in the eyes of two, the same emotions trying vainly to hide in the eyes of the third. She smiled at them, wondering why they seemed to want so much to stay at her stepfather's house. She supposed that it was natural for kids to like hanging out at their grandparents' every now and then, but Leighton ("Big Daddy") was... different.

He was a Muggle. A retired policeman, but his career had never meant as much in the face of his lack of magic. Minstrel herself was a pureblood witch, raised in a magical environment, and her kids were all magic too.

But Minstrel had been raised to embrace differences. She was, after all, twice adopted - first after her birth parents had died, and then, after her original stepfather had been killed, by her stepmother's new husband. Of her children, she had borne only one - the others were adopted, too. Her only living blood relatives were Asian and she was living in a European country with her gay best friend and the cousin of her ex-convict of a boyfriend (now dead), who was incidentally also the biological grandmother of her youngest child, whose father - Minstrel's deceased ex-husband - was a werewolf. Oh, Minstrel was used to all sorts of differences.

Everyone she knew was magic, though. Except for Leighton, who had married her stepmother when Minstrel was already in her twenties. When Lucy tragically died several years later, Leighton had gone through Muggle court proceedings to have himself declared legally the father of a twenty-five-year-old that he had known a mere three years, and then proceeded to will all of his belongings to her in the event of his death.

It was now nearly two decades later and Leighton was still going strong, despite having reached retirement age a handful of years prior. He lived by himself in a small house in a Muggle neighborhood, where he enjoyed his hobbies of fishing, whittling, and collecting the newest electronic gadgets and games.

Minstrel rather suspected that Big Daddy must have bought some new toy. There was that... _Whee_, was it called? ...that was newly out in stores. "Going to try out whatever Big Daddy's gotten himself?" she asked fondly.

"Oh no, not this time!" piped up Celes. "We're watching DVDs. Big Daddy's got some classics."

"Classics, huh?"

"Yeah, some really vintage stuff! Like Uncanny X-Men cartoons from the early 90s!"

Minstrel chuckled. "Your _brother_ is from the early 90s."

"Yeah Mom I guessed. Betcha watched the cartoons huh?"

This perplexed Minstrel, who had never heard of the Uncanny X-Men in her life. "What makes you say that?"

"'Cause you named Remy Remy. Like Remy LeBeau, you know, Gambit!" Celes flipped two fingers up and began swishing her arms around like she was throwing something. Teddy began to mimic her, making "pshing!" "pshing!" noises and random "explosions".

Minstrel's eyebrow rose and she looked at her eldest. _Care to explain?_

"They're copying Gambit," he said. "He's a mutant with powers to increase the kinetic energy of particles, and his favorite weapons are playing cards. He charges them -" raising his own two fingers "- throws them -" making an arcing motion with one arm "- and BOOM!" throwing his hands into the air, splaying his fingers as far apart as possible before wriggling them as he brought his hands down. "Ashes," he concluded.

"Ashes, ashes, we all fall down!" sang Celes, giggling and mimicking her brother. "Oooh, spirit fingers!"

"I see you like him too," said Minstrel.

Remy shrugged. "Hard not to. Gambit's cool," he said. "He's a bad-ass fighter, and good with women, but he's really got his eye on a single girl - the Rogue." He grinned. "Can't blame him either. Rogue's gorgeous."

"Well, _I_ like Storm," said Celes.

"_I _like Wolverine!" piped in Teddy, holding up three fingers on each hand like claws. "Snikt! Snikt! Slash!"


	10. Celes Picks a Wand

Marcel Waylon Ollivander had been making and selling wands for most of his life - over a hundred and fifty years - but he still remembered every wand he'd ever sold, and the person he'd sold each to. He'd seen little children get their first (and often only) wands, and then, years later, bring their own children to the shop in their turn - he'd seen six or seven generations, in fact. Time passed so slowly for wizards, but children of all sorts grew up so fast.

His eyes traveled over the front of the shop, where his grandson and apprentice, Alphonsus, was talking with a tall, slender young man of around seventeen or eighteen. Mr. Ollivander recognized the boy, of course; seven years before, he'd been in the shop with his mother to buy his own wand. Remy Lupin: sixteen and a half inches, olive, supple and swishy, dragon heartstring core, an ideal wand for transfiguration. Today he was with two children of close to the same age, the elder of which - a girl - was bent over the selection of wands that Alphonsus had laid out in front of her, eyeing each one as if her choice could affect the fate of the world. The younger one, a boy, tugged impatiently at Remy's sleeve. "Come on," he wheedled. "Cel's going to take forever. You said I could get some ice cream."

"She won't take long, will you, Cel?" Remy asked. The girl shrugged, not breaking her concentration as she mumbled, "You and Teddy can go get ice creams if he wants, I'll stay here 'til you get back."

Apparently, however, the younger boy, Teddy, was not really interested in ice cream - he merely wanted his sister, if sister she was, to hurry up, because he pouted and crossed his arms, but made no move to leave. Now, if Mr. Ollivander had guessed right - and he was a shrewd guesser - the girl was the daughter of Minstrel Lehman, and therefore the sister of Remy. The two of them took after their mother in coloration and demeanor (more than three decades before, Minstrel Lehman had looked nearly exactly the same as she bent over the same task), but the third child - Teddy - was of a different cast... now, what had he heard about this before...?

Mr. Ollivander's mental review of the Daily Prophet's Society columns was broken when the girl decisively picked up a wand. The wand gratified her by producing a jet of purple fire. The fire twisted in the air like a serpent, and after a while dissipated with a sweet smell like incense. Alphonsus seemed delighted. "A match on your first try!" he exclaimed, "that's great!"

Mr. Ollivander smiled, remembering a time when he's had much the same reaction to a girl who resembled this one. "Don't celebrate yet, Alphonse," said Mr. Ollivander dryly, using the shorter familiar form to address his grandson. "Have her try other wands. If she's anything like her mother was at that age, the choice she makes might surprise you."

"I thought 'the wand chooses the wizard', Grandpere," Alphonsus quoted with a questioning glance at his mentor, although he obediently handed the girl a new wand. She took it, and this time the wand created a wreath of bluebell flames that danced around like will-o'-wisps. Alphonsus seemed astounded. Mr. Ollivander smiled. "Well, give her another one, go on," he said with gentle amusement, and watched Alphonsus's jaw drop further and further as each wand unerringly swore its allegiance to the little girl, if only she would buy them.

After the little girl had gone through some twenty-odd wands, each time producing a variety of non-burning flame, Mr. Ollivander himself chose a wand from among the shelves and handed it solemnly to her. This time the wand produced a ball of silver flame, which stretched out what seemed like wispy wings, tail-feathers, and a crested head which swiveled around on a long neck as if looking for something. The silver flame-bird flickered for only a moment and then died.

Mr. Ollivander nodded gravely, although even he was a little shaken by what he'd just seen. The flame-bird had looked uncannily like a Patronus, and a corporeal one at that. He'd heard that Harry Potter had managed the Patronus Charm at thirteen, but he was an extreme rarity; yet here was a ten-year-old who hadn't even started school... then again, her mother had quite surprised him, too - but Remy had been normal enough... "Was that a Patronus?" he asked in a would-be-disinterested voice.

Remy Lupin, who had been watching the proceedings in silence, now let out a wry chuckle. "I know how you feel," he said. "But to Celes, it's nothing special. She produced a Patronus as her first sign of magic, and she's been able to produce a corporeal one since last year, about the same time I learned it, although the form of hers varies every now and then. I admit it was rather a pressure on me to manage it before she did."

"I can imagine," Mr. Ollivander said weakly. Was her magic so strong, then? He turned to his apprentice. "And that, my dear boy, is why sometimes it is still the wizard that chooses the wand - there are some wizards around whom any wand would be just too pleased to serve. That is the type of wizard every wand-maker aspires to be, but sadly, it is often achieved only by the end of a very long and productive life." He beamed at Celes. "I never managed to convince your mother to follow in your grandfather's and my footsteps, but I don't suppose YOU might want to be a wand-maker someday?"

The girl seemed to consider this very seriously, although Mr. Ollivander, at this point, was rather thinking that perhaps there wasn't anything the child did NOT take seriously. "I don't know," she said at last. "I always wanted to be an Auror, like Uncle Harry."

"Well, there's plenty of time for you to decide," said the old man genially, privately thinking that if this child were to become an Auror she would quickly eclipse the legend of Alastor Moody and maybe even match or surpass her "Uncle Harry". He noted in passing that the little boy had perked up at the mention of Harry Potter; probably, in another year or two, when he had his turn in the shop, he too would announce an intention to become an Auror. Times had truly been dark, to have created a generation of children bent on making the capture of Dark Wizards their career path... "Have you made a decision on your wand yet, though?" he asked Celes.

"I think... this one," she said, holding up the last. "It feels... different from the others."

The old man's smile widened. "How is it different? Can you describe it?"

"I... well, it's... um, some of those wands felt pretty straightforward, I guess? There were some wands with kind of blendy feelings, like two tastes or colors together, but that's not quite the way this one feels different... I'm not sure," she said, biting her lower lip, "it's not as opinionated as the others, can wands be like that? Like, it doesn't feel like it's so set on how it wants to do things, it's readier to try and adjust to me? But at the same time it's got these real.. ideals... it wants me to live up to?" She chuckled, a rather adult sound that was, all the same, not entirely unexpected. "Does all that sound silly?"

"It sounds exactly right, in fact," Mr. Ollivander said. "Show your wand to Alphonsus."

"Why, it's mine," Alphonsus said, delighted. "Thirteen inches flat, fig, leprechaun hair. You're the first person to match with one of my wands!"

"Well, I like it," Celes said simply.

"How much for it?" Remy said, and, when told, handed the amount over.

"Finally!" said the little boy, Teddy, who had jumped down off his perch as soon as Remy opened his money pouch, and was now fairly bouncing with impatience. "Okay, Teddy, you've been good," said Remy, laughing, "we can go get that ice cream."

"Me too!" said Celes, grabbing her new wand and hurrying after her brothers, after all just like any child.

When they had left, Mr. Ollivander turned to Alphonsus, whose eyes were bright as he continued to look outside of the shop. "Alright, wipe that look off your face," Mr. Ollivander said, though his tone was full of encouragement and indulgence, "you'll be selling more wands soon, though it does seem propitious she of all people was your first customer. She said something I hope you were paying attention to..." And now he was once more the teacher and Alphonsus the student. "Which wands gave her the "blendy" feeling, do you think?" 


	11. DADA OWLs c1977

Minstrel ran forward to meet her cousin, distress written across her face. "Sevvie, Sevvie, are you okay? We saw-"

"You and everybody else," Severus snorted bitterly in disgust. "And? Do you think I ought to wash my underpants too?"

"No!" Minstrel said, then, reconsidering, "well, you ought to if you don't, but - I mean -" she petered off, blushing as she tried to repress a smile, "- it's really none of my business - what did you have to bring up your underpants for?"

She was so flustered that Severus paused to wonder about it. His fury and indgnation lost a bit of its edge, and the tiniest of smiles cracked up the furthest corner of his lips. "YOu're right, it really isn't any of your business," he said without rancor, "although for the record, I wash and press them regularly, it's just that - er, never mind -"

For Minstrel had let out a snort of laughter, which she was trying to quell by shoving her fist into her mouth, to no avail. "You PRESS your UNDERPANTS?" she giggled around her fingers. "Now why would anyone do such an anal thing as that?"

"It keeps them from getting musty you know!" Severus snapped defensively, red spreading from his nose, across his cheeks to the tips of his ears. "It's not like I can hang them out in the sun to dry while I'm in school!"

"Why don't you let the house-elves do them for you?" Minstrel asked, still giggling.

"I'm not going to let some elf touch my -"

"Uh-huh," Minstrel nodded with mock sagacity, then lost control entirely and broke into helpless laughter.

"Thirteen-year-olds!" Severus huffed to himself. "Look, if you've got nothing better to do than laugh at my laundry habits, why don't you just run along and look for someone else to bother? There'll be a practical later, and I have my Potions OWL scheduled for tomorrow, you know."

"Oh, pooh!" Minstrel declared with a falsely regal air after she had wiped off the tears of hilarity that had formed at the corner of her eyes. "You of all people don't have to study for THAT."

"Therefore you think you can bother me?"

She blinked innocently at him. "Can't I?"

"No," said Severus flatly. He put his hands on his cousin's shoulders and spun her around so that she was facing in the opposite direction. "I need to study. Get going."

"Well, I'm glad you seem okay now anyway," said Minstrel in a very small voice as she allowed herself to be chivvied away. Severus did not reply. She was not sure he had even heard her.

Later that afternoon, Minstrel waited for the fifth-years to finish their practical exams. BLACK EVANS LUPIN PETTIGREW POTTER SNAPE 


	12. Desire

Do you like it when he makes love to you? Do you savor his kisses on your lips, his hands on your skin?

Do you really want to know the answer?

No. If you say no, I would not believe you. If you say yes -

If I should tell you that there is but one man's taste that I remember?

I would call you a liar.

You're right. I would be lying. Because I know the taste of Remus's love... and I remember yours. Even if I tried so hard to forget.

He pressed her palm against his lips almost reverently, but his eyes were smoldering with anger and desire. Desire that seemed to heat her cheeks and curl provocatively in the pit of her stomach. Why am I doing this? She thought. Why am I refusing this man, when he wants me, and all I've ever wanted is him? Even when he's so angry and I should be afraid... 


	13. Fantasy

Should you be here? he whispered hoarsely, his throat suddenly dry. He flicked his tongue over lips, hoping to moisten them and relieve the dryness of his mouth, to no avail. He tried another tack, hoping to cover up the cracking of his voice. Wouldn't your husband look for you?

For answer he got the sweet weight of her on his lap, her face so close to his he could smell toothpaste on her breath. I shouldn't, she replied, placing just the tips of her fingers on his shoulders and running them slowly down his arms until they reached his hands; then, firmly, she took his hands and placed them on her hips. He could feel her every motion under the thin material of her nightgown. She leaned towards his ear and whispered, And weren't you looking for me?

In that position he could feel her nipples tightening against his collarbone, and her legs were quickly slipping forward so that she was straddling his hips. He groaned her name, half in protest, half a plea. Mina, he said, don't do this if you don't mean it...

Why shouldn't I mean it? she said, beginning to nibble on his earlobe and threading her hands in his long hair. You're still a fine man, Sirius Black, and I want you.

Shivers of pleasure ran up Sirius as he heard those words. Even so, he swallowed hard. He let go of the tender body before him. Go now, he said. This is a dream, I'm sure of it. The image of Minstrel vanished as had a million others, for every night one of them would appear. And every night Sirius would realize that he was only dreaming. She would never say she wants me, he murmured, dropping his head into his hands. Nobody would want me an escaped convict, a mass murderer, a traitor.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, and expelled it in a long sigh. But... I want her. God, how I want her. 


	14. The Bet

So it was one of those stupid teenage guy things, but Sirius was quite determined that he would win that bet with James. He didn't really care about the Captainship of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team (the title wasn't James's to give anyway), and although the broom would be a nice perk he was rather attached to his own - which was, after all, only two years old and hardly outdated. But he just couldn't let James off, not after that comment that he couldn't keep a girl if he tried. Not after he had started the not-quite-fight, anyway. Though how was he supposed to know that James would get that pissed off? He'd only been funning the guy about Evans. As usual. And who wouldn't? James had set his cap for the Evans girl back in third year, and had continuously rebuffed all admirers since then - he remained stalwartly unattached, even now, three years later. Meanwhile, Evans had just as determinedly turned him down... even after she'd had a falling-out with her lapdog Snape, and was now pretty much alone and had been for a long time.

Sirius had taken quite an opposite approach to James. He'd had strings of girlfriends, none of whom lasted much more than a week - third dates were a very rare thing: he usually spent one date getting them to agree to a committed relationship, and the next date breaking it off. Nobody turned him down, and he was highly sought-after despite (or perhaps because of) his reputation. Or his charm. Or his brilliance, on the pitch or in class. Or his damn fine looks. Or his modesty. Every female wanted him, and every male wanted to be him. He was, after all, The Great Sirius Black.

So when James had told him that his free and easy love-'em-leave-'em attitude with the female species was a way to mask his inability to keep a sustained interest (i.e. "fear of commitment"), Sirius had told him to shove it up his - and James had bet that Sirius would not only be unable to make a relationship last a year, he'd not even be able to win a certain someone over. He was so sure of it, he said, that he'd bet his Quidditch Captain badge and his new racing broom as well - and Sirius need not even put up anything as a counterweight, except his pride. Incensed, Sirius had agreed to any damn terms James coud possibly come up with. That was when James had picked out Minstrel Lehman as his target.

They were all familiar with Minstrel Lehman. A year below them, she was a special friend of Evans and Snape, who had retained the friendship of both even after the two had split. She had also been something like the girlfriend of Sirius's prat of a younger brother, Regulus - that is, until Regulus ran off from school and joined the Death Eaters. Officially, she was the daughter of a Swiss wandmaker and his British wife, but rumor had it that she was actually the missing child of the pureblood Evermoor clan, and the cousin of Snape. Sirius didn't put much store in the rumor - he'd seen her with her father once or twice, at Diagon Alley - but apparently the Slytherins (and his parents) did, because they all liked her, for someone who wasn't in their House; in any case she was the only person, outside of Evans, whom Snape appeared to like, and who remained friends with him. They had to be related somehow, because otherwise her patience with him would be patently strange. Lehman was stiff and holier-than-thou and always correct and polite even when making insults. She was also involved in practically every academic undertaking and did well in all of them - in other words, she was a typical Ravenclaw brown-nose. She was also one of the few Ravenclaws who played a halfway decent game of Quidditch, although of course none of them (with the exception of Tamara Fence) could ever be as brilliant as the Gryffindors. Translation: she was an over-achieving little girl who was quickly outpacing her mentor Lily Evans in the "annoying teacher's pet" department. As always, he wondered briefly what it was about Severus Snape that seemed to attract such undesirable creatures; then again, like begets like.

At least Evans was a looker, Sirius thought, displeased. She had only a pleasant face, in his opinion (when it wasn't screwed up in irritation), but she was fairly tall, and had expressive eyes - the vivid green of them against her equally vivid red-gold hair made a striking picture. Not that Sirius had limited himself to the obviously attractive girls in his exploits; he knew quite well that there were those who weren't so very obvious, but had a great deal of charm, or fine bone structure, or interesting features, that were only not set off correctly because of one thing or another - such as, for example, the fact that they had more outgoing friends or were never noticed by guys as handsome as Sirius before. But Minstrel Lehman was short (tiny would be a better word), shapeless, wore thick glasses, and kept her dark hair in a serpent of a braid that was better fit for a child or an old woman than a fifteen-year-old. She also acted a lot like Professor McGonagall, especially after she'd been made Prefect. Sirius had not observed anything about her that might hint at something potentially more interesting. Well, Remus said she was actually quite nice - they'd been friends for a couple of years, ever since that exchange-student program, and had taken to sometimes hanging out at the Prefects' Table during meals and school assemblies - but Sirius had never understood what was nice about a girl who would tell on you for every little piddling move or give you a tongue-lashing even when you weren't doing anything wrong. Besides, "nice" in no way meant "pretty". And Sirius wasn't into dating non-pretty girls.

Still, he would date this one. What was more, he'd so charm her that she'd be wrapped around his little finger, and she'd stick around for a year. Because he was going to make that damned James eat his bet. 


End file.
